The Roseate Glow of Dawn
by roseateglow
Summary: He felt empty inside. She had been his rock, and now, she was suddenly, irreplaceably gone. Postrescue fic, Jack visits Kate in prison and learns a secret that will change his life.
1. The Shadow of the Past

A/N: Originally supposed to be a short oneshot, it's now turned into ANOTHER off-island fic that will be maximum five chapters and may or may not have a happy ending. Angst is fun, but fluff is too. Hmm...  
---

He felt empty inside. She had been his rock, and now, she was suddenly, irreplaceably gone. Had it really only been two months since their rescue? Only two months since she'd been ruthlessly torn from his arms by two US marshals as they stepped off the plane at the Los Angeles airport.

_She had changed in the months they had been on the island. He hadn't known how much he could love a person until Kate. In turn, he taught her that running was not always the best option. As their time on the island had slipped into its fifth month, less uneventful than ever, the camp gossip about their relationship snowballed out of control, until the morning Locke had entered Jack's tent and found him sleeping, shirtless, his arm around Kate's bare shoulders. They had been through too much together to deny any feelings for each other any longer._

_Rescue came in early May, and they were all thrilled when they spotted the small plane hovering over the island. It landed, and the pilot spoke briefly with Jack and Sayid before taking off again, promising to bring help as soon as possible. They expected a ship or large plane the next morning, but instead they endured heavy rain for a week straight. Jack ordered everyone down to the caves, while he, Sayid, Locke, Sawyer and Eko stayed on the beach to wait for the rescue party to arrive. It was at least ten days until their coast guard rescue boat arrived, and the captain explained as they boarded how the ship had been nearly blown off course in what the officers said was the worst storm they'd ever seen. The ship wasn't at all damaged, and once the survivors were aboard, it left for Australia. Things would never be the same, of course. Their joy at being rescued was clouded by the small hillside on the beach of the island that had been their home for eight long months: the graveyard that held the bodies of those they had lost after the burning of the fuselage. Joanna, Scott, Boone, Shannon, Ana Lucia, Libby, Craig, Neil, Tracey, Lance. No one had wanted to dig up the bodies, families had to leave without their loved ones. Jack's original mission, to bring back the coffin containing his dead father was a failure. He had long ago found the coffin, but never his father's body._

_The trip back to Australia had been entirely uneventful. Upon arrival, the survivors had spent a day in Sydney, given a voucher from Oceanic to buy any necessities. They were told to follow the schedule given to them, report to their hotel by nine that night, and be up and ready to leave for the airport at five in the morning for the flight to LA at six. An alternate route was planned—fly north, over Southeast Asia, stop in Tokyo to refuel, then on to LA. None of the passengers wanted to risk flying over the South Pacific again._

_She had stuck with him while they were taken to a small store to make their purchases. He lost her in a crowd, his brow creased with worry, until he spotted her lounging on a bench near the checkout, waiting for him. She was wearing a pair of black sunglasses to hide her eyes, and she raised her head when he approached._

_"What'd you buy?" He had asked her. She gave him a bittersweet smile._

_"Just some stuff for the trip home."_

_They were both too exhausted to say much that evening, and declined to join the others for dinner in the hotel's restaurant. They curled up in the soft king-size bed in each other's arms, content to just whisper, dream. He talked about them getting a house together, starting a new routine. He skirted the issue of marriage and children--they had both talked about the latter, but had decided not yet, especially not with the risks on the island of something going wrong. Now, he knew that he was ready for the committment. He wasn't sure if she was just yet, but he wasn't complaining. He wanted her to himself for a while anyway._

_They woke up early the next morning in each other's arms, showered together, made love, dressed, went down to the considerably early breakfast with the rest of the survivors. With their meager amount of luggage, the group was loaded onto buses to the Sydney airport. __During the flight, they all traded contact information, promised to have yearly reunions, keep in touch. The ride to Los Angeles was, understandably, nerve-wracking, and when the voice over the loudspeaker announced they had safely arrived at LAX, a cheer arose from the passengers. The group left the gate to go home and were suddenly slammed by a rush of people, fighting through photographers, journalists, news crews, scientists, talk show hosts. Everyone wanted to meet the survivors of the mysterious Oceanic Flight 815. Jack held Kate to his side, afraid to lose her in the pressing crowd, searching for the nearest exit. Their bags were carry-on, and he wanted to get to his car as fast as possible, assuming it was still in the parking lot. Kate kept her head down, sunglasses on, as they pushed their way through the crowd. So naturally, he saw them first. In retrospect, he should have realized how easy this all seemed, for them to get off of the ship and for there to be no police there to arrest her. He should have done more to protect her, get her away from there, thought quicker. He should have..._

Sunlight streamed into the tall windows in the loft apartment. With his surgeon's salary, he could afford much better, but the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn't used to luxury anymore. He discovered he missed the simplicity of life on the island, and when he bought his new apartment, he bought only the essentials. Of course there was a washing machine and dryer, a fridge, oven and microwave. But he didn't need a big-screen TV or fancy exercise equipment. He had lost enough weight on the island, and he could make do with the small color TV in his bedroom, although he rarely watched it. Before the crash, he'd been nothing more than a promising spinal surgeon from Los Angeles. After the rescue, neither his home nor his mother's home was safe from people wanting autographs or taking pictures. There was no reason why being a plane crash survivor should warrant this much popularity. He'd nearly had to quit his job and was close to leaving the state. He just wanted to get away from people wanting book or movie deals. It was too much, too overwhelming. He thought about New York, where he imagined he could fade into anonymity. It was so populated here that people didn't care who you were and rarely recognised you. He never made good on his threats to leave, and his life became a dull, daily monotony. He got up, showered, maybe had breakfast, drove to work, operated, had lunch, filled out paperwork, went home, ate dinner, thought about Kate, maybe called one of the others to see how they were doing, took another shower, went to bed. Some days, he split his life into three: He spent a third of his day at the hospital, a third sleeping, and a third contacting every jail and police station he could to find her.

It was a hot morning in July when he Jack went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. The heat of the summer baked Los Angeles and he slept in nothing but his boxers, so it didn't take too much effort to undress and get into the shower. The hot water droplets stung as they reached his skin, and the shower door fogged over until he couldn't see through it. His skin burned red with the heat, and he rubbed his damp hands over his face, shaking sleep out of his eyes. The music from the radio on the bathroom counter rose over the sounds of the water. _Everyone knows I'm in over my head, over my head. with eight seconds left in overtime, she's on your mind, she's on your mind..._

_He had frozen. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused to obey. She stopped with him, puzzled, confused, looking at him, then up, her face contorted in horror. The five US marshals approached them and two of them jumped forward to wrestle Kate to the ground. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out, and all he could do was watch helplessly as they handcuffed her. He sensed the attentions of their welcome committee shift to the scene unfolding in front of him, and was suddenly surrounded by camera crews, photographers, journalists, As they pulled her up off of the ground, one of them bluntly stating her rights, he saw that she had a defiant look on her face, as if daring the people surrounding them to say something. Nearby, the other survivors moved away, as if embarrassed to watch, and Jack hated them for it, hated that after all she done for them, they were ashamed of her. The two large men began to lead her away through the crowd, with the three backups guarding them. She hadn't looked at him from the moment they'd captured her, no eye contact at all. Suddenly, his body and his voice kicked into gear, and he ran after, calling her name: _

"Kate!"

They stopped, confused at first, and she turned. He tried to get closer, but one of the other marshals held him back. Their eyes finally met, and she starred at him blankly. He saw that she was fighting back tears. and he fought to think of something to say, anything. The guards were pulling Kate forward and she turned away, her long brown hair covering her face.

"Kate!" He pushed the third marshal off of him and ran to her. The guards holding on to her looked at each other, then at him, and the taller one shrugged. "You better say what you gotta say, pal, this one's going away for a long time."

She wouldn't look at him. Fear gripped his heart. He was never going to see her again.

"I love you." He said bluntly, but honestly, words he had said time and time again. "I will _wait for you. I will get you out." Her head snapped up and she was looking at him with those wide eyes, the same look she'd given him the day they first kissed, right before she ran. This time, though, there was a faint smile on her lips. _

"I know. I love you, too, Jack." He struggled with himself for a moment, fully aware of the media frenzy going on at his back, but he suddenly felt like the sound had been sucked from the room and it was only them, alone, together. He leaned down and kissed her, the way two people kiss when they know they're not going to see each other for a long time. "Don't forget to count to five," He whispered, his forehead touching hers. The guards pulled them apart, led her away. She looked back at him and they locked gazes until she had passed through a doorway and dissappeared from view. He stood there, starring at the door, until the shrill voice of his mother rang out, sounding horrible, grief-stricken, and he tore his eyes from the door and went to tell his mother about his father.


	2. The Leave Taking

A/N: I wrote a big chunk of this, but then ate it and I had to start all over. I remembered most of what I wrote though! Just a note, the italics is pre-story flashbacks, and I'm going to use them to build on the growth of Jack and Kate's island relationship and how they got to where they are. And I'm hard at work finishing the sequel to "Fate," the first chapter of two should be up soon. This one is kind of a transition piece. Things get interesting in the next chapter, Kate's trial. Hope you all enjoy this one :)  
---

He leaned back against the cold, hard plastic seat of the prison waiting area, every so often throwing an angry glare at the receptionist who had repeatedly ignored his pleas. No visitors for another hour. It had been a long week, culminating in his arrival at the Iowa Correctional Institution for Women in the small town of Mitchellville, sitting in a waiting room with about four other people, glancing at the agonizingly slow minute hand of the clock as it counted down the minutes until he would see her again.

_8:37_. They would be allowed to trickle into the visiting hall at 9:30. Jack sighed, leaning his head back against the cold stone wall, unconsciously squeezing in the palm of his hand the small key to the rental car that was parked outside. His mind drifted back to February, earlier that year, when their time on the island seemed like it would mean forever.

_Jack had long expressed his concerns to Sayid about their survival. Since Jack, Kate and Sawyer's capture and subsequent release by the others two weeks later, and the destruction of the Hatch, the entire group had permanently moved to the beach. Some of them built rough huts. Sun and Kate continued to work on their garden. Whatever mysteries the island held, none of them wanted to take any chances. The bearded man—Tom—his words still echoed in the back of Jack's mind. "This is not your island. This is our island. And the only reason you're livin' on it is because we let you." And so they let it go. Since the deaths of Ana-Lucia and Libby, they had lost Craig and Neil, in separate incidents. Craig had had a seizure disorder, and run out of medication. His death was sudden, and peaceful, the first of its' kind on the island. Neil, one of the younger survivors, had been attacked and severely mauled by a boar. There wasn't much that Jack could have done to save him, and, like Boone's death he took it hard._

_He faced another, more urgent problem: both Sun and Tracey were pregnant, and Jack voiced a serious concern about the survivors practicing safe sex. There was a small chance they would be rescued, a chance that dwindled with each passing day. They would have to start settling in, but this was not civilization, and they couldn't just start forming families. The island was about survival, and having children, while a joy, was not the best thing to happen in their current situation. He spoke privately with all of the women about it. Kate had protested and whined that she didn't need to hear about this, but he told her it was for the good of the entire camp. They could hardly keep themselves fed, much less adding five or six, or even ten children to their numbers. Aaron was enough, but it would soon grow out of hand. She had nagged him, complaining that she didn't think it was necessary, that so many of them had already died, and besides, what was Aaron going to do when all of the adults died and he was alone on the island with polar bears._

_"Kate, we are not having this discussion. You need to be there and you need to hear this."_

_"Why? Come on, Jack, it's not like I'm sexually active now anyway."_

_He had coughed to cover his embarrassment, and she played on it, teasing him that he probably wasn't getting any either. He shamelessly teased her back, adding he was too busy taking care of everyone to think about sex. She trailed him for the rest of the day, conceding to listen to his "talk," then hanging around his tent after nightfall. He was ready to drop onto his pallet, exhausted, but she followed him inside and made herself comfortable._

_"What's wrong?"_

_She raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, I just wanted to talk."_

_"Can it wait until morning?"_

_"It could, but—"_

_"Then tell me in the morning."_

_She touched his arm gently, biting her lip. "It's about us."_

_He dropped his backpack abruptly onto the sand, spilling out the contents. He tried to busy himself with organizing his things, anything to distract himself from having to face her. They hadn't talked about that kiss they had shared what had been almost three months ago. He knew how strongly he felt about her, how his drive to protect her outweighed any other thought in his head, but he was too afraid to say anything to her, for fear that she wouldn't feel the same. _

_She knelt to help him, while he protested. "No, Kate, I've got it, really, I'm okay—"_

_"Did you really mean it? What you said?"_

_"What I said when?"_

_She straightened up, sitting cross-legged against the wall of the tent. "When I said I was sorry I kissed you."_

_ "Were you?" He questioned, dodging her question. She traced a pattern in the sand before answering._

_"Not if you weren't."_

_"That's not what I asked you."_

_"I asked first," she shrugged. He met her eyes, so green and sparkling, and watched the shadows of the flames from the large fire outside dance across her face. She was beautiful, and if he had been the bold type, he might have kissed her then. Instead, he broke eye contact and started to put his things back where they belonged._

_"We should probably get some sleep."_

_She had looked almost hopeful, but her eyes no longer betrayed her emotions. She nodded and rose to her knees to move out of the tent. He waited with baited breath before speaking again._

_"Hey, Kate!"_

_She had already climbed out of the entrance, but now her face reappeared as she poked her head inside once again._

_"Maybe—uh, we could try that again. I mean, it was a long time ago. Not, you know, long, but it's been awhile, and maybe, since neither of us are really sure about it—"_

_He knew his face was burning red, and he thanked the orange glow of the fire for hiding it. She glanced at the sand, then back up at him._

_"Yeah. I'd like that. You pick a time and a place, Casanova. I'll be there."_

_She was gone. He sat there for a moment, kneeling on his pallet, in almost stunned silence, at his own audacity, and at her answer. The wind blew a cool breeze onto his face as he settled down, grinning stupidly to himself and wondered when he'd stopped taking his own advice._

"Excuse me, sir." The receptionist stood in front of him, giving him a hard look. "Visiting hours have begun." She was at least in her sixties, Jack guessed, unmarried, from the looks of her ring-less fingers. She'd never had what he had with Kate, and he didn't think she deserved to.

"Can't imagine what a nice young man like you is doing in a place like this." She clucked, nodding her head toward the small group of visitors as he hurried to catch up with them, ignoring the woman. She didn't know him, and she didn't know Kate, so who was she to make any assumptions about them?

The small group trickled into the large visitors' hall. Some of them seemed to know the routine, and took seats at some of the tables in the room. Others, Jack included, stood in the middle, unsure. The only noise was from a young boy, who looked about nine, speaking with a ruddy-faced man who was obviously his father, they looked so much alike. The man looked nervous and the boy, excited. The man almost reminded him of Sawyer, giving off the aura of a kind of white-trash redneck. He might have thought that, immediately stereotyped the man, but he looked clean, as if he had scrubbed his face raw and tried to do the same to the boy, who, from the way the child was bouncing up and down, had not succeeded. The man spoke gently to the boy, who nodded and sat down next to his father, leaning against him. That image stirred something in Jack's own heart, and he wondered how his own father could have been so emotionless toward him. What was it that made this man such a good parent that had passed over his own father? He wondered vaguely how it was that a man who looked like a truck-driving redneck could be a better father than a man who had been trained at an Ivy-league college and probably earned more in a day than this man made in a year.

The sound of a door opening broke him from his thoughts. He watched a group of women come in, dressed identically in orange jumpsuits and all handcuffed. His heart skipped a beat when she entered the room, and a sudden jolt at her appearance took him by surprise. She had a frightened look on her face, and kept her eyes down, boring into the floor. Her hair hung limp to her shoulders, slightly shorter than he remembered it. She kept her arms over her stomach, and he saw that she had put on some weight. At least she's eating, he thought to himself. He had been afraid she would be nothing but skin and bones.

She winced as the guard roughly removed the cuffs, scanning the room with that beaten puppy-dog look on her face. Their eyes connected, and before he could utter a single word, she had thrown herself at him. He gasped, whether from the shock of her body hitting his, or just the sheer happiness at having her in his arms again. He felt the front of his shirt getting damp, and it took him a moment to realize she was crying.

He pulled back slowly, fighting back tears of his own. He stood for a moment, unsure, his arms still lingering around her waist, and all at once, a rush of emotions hit him head on. He was vaguely aware, as their lips met in a fire of passion, of the way her hands were clinging to his neck, the way she pressed her body against his, as if when he let go, she would collapse. He finally pulled away for air, touching her cheek softly as she smiled up at him weakly.

"Hey,"

He glanced around the room, suddenly embarrassed at their very public display of affection, but the guards were probably used to it, and the other prisoners and their guests didn't bat an eye. She led him to a bench in the far corner of the room that would allow them some privacy.

"When's your trial?" Immediately after the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He knew exactly when her trial was. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink, and she looked away from him.

"Two weeks from yesterday," she said in a monotone. "Going to be broadcast on Court TV, I hear."

"They want me testify," he informed her. She raised her head to look at him, surprised. "Are you going to?"

"I want you out of here." He said simply. She searched his eyes.

"What about the others?"

He didn't answer her, and watched the realization etch onto her face. "I knew they wouldn't."

"They really—"

"Don't." She said, holding up a hand. "They weren't going to, ever. I guess one the island, when I was helping them and finding food for them and delivering their babies and caring for them when they were sick, I guess none of that mattered. They've all abandoned me."

"I haven't," he said quietly.

"No, you haven't." She took his hand and traced the palm, looking at his face, concerned. He didn't understand, until he glanced at his palm. The imprint of his car key was still evident. He shrugged, and shook his head.

"I'm glad you've been eating well," he said, wanting to kick himself for going into doctor mode. He knew they gave time limits for people with severe crimes, and so that all they had was an hour.

She blushed. "The food here isn't bad," she said woefully. "I miss fresh fruit. I'd even eat boar."

They shared a laugh, and Jack eyed her. "You getting enough protein?"

"I'm on some pills." She must have caught the look of horror on his face, and quickly added. "It's just vitamins. I don't eat the meat, so they give me the protein in dietary supplements."

"How long have you been getting special treatment?" He inquired.

"Jack, I—"

"Sorry," he interrupted. "I didn't come here to analyze your diet. How have you been?"

"In prison," she said, raising an eyebrow. "What a dumb question."

"You're hiding something from me," he said suddenly. He had spent the past few minutes searching her green eyes. He wasn't sure how he'd known, but the look in her eyes just told him. His suspicious were confirmed: her eyes flickered down for a moment, as if thinking of a lie to tell him. He shook his head when their eyes met again.

"I want the truth, Kate."

"Promise that you won't hate me. Promise that you won't say I ruined your life?"

"I promise. Kate, I love you, nothing's going to change that." He sighed, not understanding her anxious state. He took her hand. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "Jack, I'm pregnant."

He felt his insides shift. "What?"

"I'm going to have a baby in a little less than five months. I wanted to wait and know for sure. I missed once on the island, and then I was supposed to start again the week before we were rescued, but I didn't. So I took a test in the airplane bathroom that day we were going back to LA. That's what I bought at the store and that's why I got up mid-flight. It was pink, two little pink lines. I was going to tell you when we got back to…your place. I just—you know." She had tears in her eyes. "They got me."

He sat there, trying to digest all she had told him. It all fit. Her weight gain, the vitamins, the way she'd protectively covered her stomach.

And he could have punched himself for not seeing the signs sooner. He cursed under his breath, a bad decision. Her eyes clouded with tears.

"I knew you'd—I knew it." She covered her face with her hands.

"Who knows about this?" He said firmly. She peered at him through her splayed fingers.

"Why, you want me to get an abortion?"

"No!" He stared at her, in horror that she would even suggest that. "I just think you need to let people know, your guards, you know, there's an infirmary here, talk to a nurse. There are laws about this, about you getting health care. I don't want my child to be born here, and I don't want my wife to suffer through this pregnancy." Her head snapped up suddenly, but he went on. "I can arrange things for you. I'll move to Des Moines or something, and I'll be here as often as I can to watch over you. I can put in for a transfer to the hospital in Des Moines, it's only about a half an hour's drive. I can find a nice house, get things ready for you and for the baby."

"You called me your wife." She said quietly

He reddened. "When I get you out of here, I want to marry you."

"Oh, Jack." Tears spilled from her eyes. "You know what my chances are. I'm not going to get a light sentence."

"You've got good lawyers on your case. And I'll be there."

They spoke for their remaining hour until the guard announced that time was up. They remained seated if only for a moment, her tear-stained eyes studied his face, fingers brushing over his eyes, nose, mouth, as if trying to memorize his features while his eyes did the same to her. He kissed her, and put a hand on her stomach. "I love you. I'll see you in two weeks. I'm going to fly home and look into that transfer. You be good. Stay out of trouble. Take care of our baby and take care of yourself. Don't' forget to—"

"Count to five, I know, I know. It's always helped me, ever since day one."

He led her to the guard, letting go of her hand when they got there. She gave him a look of terror, and he mouthed to her, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. She shut her eyes while the man snapped the handcuffs back on her, and opened them again, looking back at Jack as she was led out of the room with three of the other inmates.

He stood there, confused, his hands thrust in his pockets, trying to digest the whole thing. A baby coming, Kate's trial coming, it was all happening too fast. The man he had been studying earlier came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder and Jack almost jumped. The man removed his hand and stuck it out in front of him sheepishly.

"Name's Clarence E. Farnsworth. Folks call me Earl. My pop's the real Clarence."

"Jack. Jack Shephard." Jack took the man's hand and shook it. He had a firm, strong grip.

"You the man from the plane crash, aren't you?" Jack nodded almost regretfully.

"My wife said she's your girl's cellmate. Said she's a nice girl. Talks about you a lot, I guess. Says you're gonna be a daddy soon, congratulations." He put a hand on the top of the boy's head. "This here's my boy, Connor. He's eight and a half. He's a smart boy. Wants to be a doctor, don't you, son?"

"Yeah!" The boy squeaked excitedly, clinging to his father's hand. Jack was reminded of Michael and Walt, and wondered where they were now.

"I'm a doctor," Jack told the boy, who stared up at him in awe. "What kind of a doctor do you want to be?"

"I wanna help kids when they get sick. I got a brother named Davey, but he's real sick. I wanna help him when I grow up."

Jack looked up at Earl questioningly. The man looked weary. "My other boy, David, he's five. The doctors said he's got muscular dystrophy. I don't bring him. Marcia blames herself for it, and her bein' in here's hard enough with that. It's hard to pay all the hospital bills." He gave Jack a look. "She thought she'd rob a bank and we could have some money. The teller pulled a gun on her, and she wrestled it out of his hands and shot him and one of the bank guards. Got a life sentence."

"I'm sorry," Jack murmured, suddenly uncomfortable, feeling as though the man expected him to reveal Kate's reason for being in jail, something she had never told him, even if she'd tried—he hadn't wanted to know. Earl, however, nodded, as if understanding.

"Go on home and get some rest. Lord knows I suffered for it when this chatterbox was born," he said, smiling at Connor, who beamed at Jack, showing off a missing tooth.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Shephard. Dr. Shephard?"

"Just Jack is fine. Nice to meet you, Earl. You too, Connor. Is there—uh, an address or phone number you could give me? I'm moving to Des Moines within the month, I'd be nice to know someone in the area."

Earl wrote his address and phone number on a piece of paper, and Jack handed the man a business card. "Thank you," he said, as he followed the man and boy out into the parking lot. They waved, and went their separate ways, Jack back to his hotel, and Earl and Connor to wherever they called home.

Back in his hotel room, Jack made sure he printed the man's name correctly as he wrote out the check for $10,000, printing out the rural address carefully. He put the envelope on top of his luggage, to remind himself to put it in the mailbox before he left for the airport the following morning.


	3. A Storm is Coming

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! Midterms were this week and they were pretty killer! So here's an extra-long update. This story is going to be kind of angsty, but I'm not saying anymore than that :) I'll try and update "Destiny" tomorrow and a new story that I'm working on!

* * *

Before Jack left for the airport the next morning, he called the jail to let them know about Kate's pregnancy. She had apparently told only her cellmate and a nurse, so the warden's shock was genuine. Jack stressed to the woman the importance of keeping her healthy. He told them he was moving nearby, and he was going to keep an eye on her. He wanted her moved from her cell to a hospital for the last two months of the pregnancy, and until then, constantly watched. He didn't want to risk anything happening to Kate or their child. The woman lazily informed him that getting the last part done would be difficult, due to the circumstances of her trial and crimes. She weren't making any promises.

His next call was to the local hospital, who informed him that they would be happy to accommodate him, as long as he could provide references and transfer documents from his previous employer. As he hung up the phone, Jack wondered if he was making the wrong choice. Not that he regretted being near Kate, but he wasn't sure how he would adjust to moving to a new place, starting a new job. Having to rearrange his whole life and going to a place where no one seemed to recognize his face or know his name.

_Then again_, he thought, as he drove the rental car back to the rent-a-car depot, _maybe that's not such a bad thing after all._

The plane ride back to LA was uneventful. He slept during the entire five hour flight, waking up only when the captain announced they were nearing LAX. The familiar sight of his hometown (home-city, more like it) from 5,000 feet up didn't elicit the same thrill as the last time he had flown into the Los Angeles airport, when he and the other survivors had been happy to be back again on solid ground after months of living on an island. He had been with Kate then, the two of them smiling, talking, and completely happy. The others had laughed and cheered with them as they landed.

And now…they had abandoned her. The sudden thought put him into a fierce rage, squeezing the armrests and clenching his teeth. A flight attendant passed him as she headed to her seat, and gave him a sympathetic, concerned look.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Fine. I'm fine. I just hate the landings."

She gave him a flirty smile over her shoulder. "It'll be over soon."

She clearly expected him to return the favor, but he simply stared out the window, watching the clouds

He had his entire apartment packed up by the following morning. He called St. Sebastian's and told them about his transfer. The chief of surgery promised to fax his information to the hospital in Des Moines as soon as possible. He called Marc and left a message on his answering machine, letting his friend know that he was moving and would call him when he got settled in. He even called Sarah, unsure why he was dialing her number after so long. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding tired.

"Hi, Larew residence, Sarah speaking."

He almost smiled to himself at how professional she still sounded when answering the phone. She'd been like that when they were married.

"Hi, Sarah. It's Jack."

There was a short pause, and he could almost imagine her debated whether or not to hang up.

"Jack, wow. It's been—I saw that you were rescued. I was—I was so worried when I heard about your plane. Your mother called me all the time, and I had to stay with her for a couple days. How is she? How are _you_?"

"Fine. She's alright. Coping. My dad died. In Sydney. I was bringing him home."

"I'm sorry to hear that," The pang of sadness in her voice brought back memories of his own accusations against his father. His suspicions about whether or not his father had been sleeping with Sarah had never been fully disproved, but he figured now was not the time to bring that up.

"Look—I just wanted to tell you—"

"Mommy, Mommy!" A child's voice called from somewhere on her side of the phone. She sighed.

"I have to go, Jack."

"Jesus, Sarah, we only got divorced a year ago. Something you didn't tell me about?"

"He's my stepson, Jack. His name is Andrew. He's four. He's Eric's son from his previous marriage."

"Are you pregnant?" The question slipped out, unintentionally, and he regretted it the moment it left his lips.

"I was two-months pregnant when I left you." She said bluntly, and for a moment, a terror filled him that the baby she had been carrying was his.

Almost as if she sensed his fear, she quickly added. "Eric's. Her name is Jessa, and she's a year old."

"Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Her reply sounded fake, forced, and he realized that his own words had seemed harsh.

"Sarah, really, I mean it. I know that I did a shit job as a husband, and I regret never paying attention to you, never having time for you. I know you wanted us to have a baby more than anything, and I—But you have a new life, and a baby, and a little boy to take care of, and you seem happy. I was just calling to say hi. I'm moving to Iowa this week. Something really important there. Just—checking in."

"I heard about that girl from your plane. They've got her in a prison cell in Iowa."

Jack fumbled for what exactly to say. It was clearly no question, but how was he supposed to response to that statement?

"Is she the reason you're moving to Iowa? I saw the pictures from the airport, they were all over the papers. You wouldn't need to call me up and tell me if you were just checking into a hotel for her trial. I know it's next week, the whole world is probably going to be watching. Is this letting me go? You finally fixed your Sarah-problem, now you can concentrate on getting on with fixing your white-trash jailbait girlfriend."

He opened his mouth to fire a round of poison at her; what right did she have to say things like that about Kate? Almost thankfully, the sound of a baby crying reached his ears, and before he could even open his mouth, she simply said, "My baby's crying. I have to go. Goodbye, Jack."

She hung up before he could respond, her words repeating in his mind: _The whole world is probably going to be watching_.

His cell phone rang several minutes later, and he recognized his mother's phone number on the caller iD. He was definitely not in the mood to talk to her, but he answered it anyway.

"Hi, Mom."

"Jack, what's this I hear about you moving to Iowa with some fugitive?"

_That bitch_, Jack thought angrily, moreso at himself for not realizing that the first thing Sarah would probably do would be to call his mother.

"I'm moving to Iowa by the end of the week, Mom. Des Moines."

"You have a life here, in Los Angeles, Jack," his mother's voice sounded almost whiny and it grated his nerves. "You want to drop all of this for some delinquent?"

"I'm thirty-four, Mom. I think it's about time I start making my own decisions. And she is my decision."

"She's the girl from your plane, isn't she? The one who murdered her father and shot those three men at that bank. What on earth do you see in someone like _her_?"

He wondered how he could even begin to explain what he felt for Kate to someone like his mother. How sweet she could be, kind and shy and sensitive and beautiful. How he had so desperately wanted to surprise her for her birthday in May, but the rescue had ruined his hopes. How he had never felt the way he felt about Kate with anyone before, not even Sarah. How she meant everything to him. How she was carrying his child…

_Her hair tickled his face as she lay half on top of him, sleeping against his chest. On the nights they made love, such as this particular evening, their clothes were left discarded, and they kept warm through body heat and the blue Oceanic blanket, cuddled together and falling asleep all over each other. Other nights, when the exhaustion overruled their lust, they stripped down to their underwear and slept, both of them content with their closeness for comfort._

_She slept, but he was wide awake, his mind turning gears in his head, wondering. They had been careless in their coupling, and he was concerned. _So much for listening to your own advice,_ he chastised himself. It had been barely a month since his lecture about the dangers of pregnancy, barely a month since he had Kate had shared their second kiss. Three weeks since they had first made love, when she had given herself completely to him, her eyes full of trust. He was always gentle with her. To him, she was like a porcelain doll, fragile and breakable. He would never admit that to her. On the outside, she was tough, strong Kate, but on the inside, he knew she was just as vulnerable as the rest of them._

_He began to trace circles across Kate's bare stomach, wondering vaguely how he would feel about being a father. Of course, he had given all the women the talk, but that hadn't stopped them. The supply of condoms and birth control pills had long since run out…they hadn't been careful. Still, there was that part of him that told him he wouldn't be at all angry if Kate told him she was pregnant. He wanted, more than anything, to be a dad, and for Kate to be the mother of his children. It didn't matter anymore, he decided, if they were on an island. He leaned over to kiss her gently and her eyes cracked open, squinting up at him._

"_Hey," she said, tilting her head to the side a little._

"_Hey yourself," he replied, smiling as he watched her yawn._

"_S'morning, huh?" She asked, stretching and cozying up against him._

"_Yeah, around eight or so, I think. You sleep okay?"_

"_Mmmhmm." She nuzzled against his neck, brushing her lips across his Adam's apple._

"_Feeling any better?" He teased, smirking at her and leaning in to wrap her in his arms._

"_My back still kind of hurts," she said, wrinkling her nose. He loved it when she did that, and she knew it._

"_Yeah, sorry about that. I'm just glad you can keep yourself quiet. I'm a little worried about the others hearing us."_

_She wiggled out of his arms and sat up, pulling a bra out of the suitcase she had dragged into his tent the day she'd "moved in." She threw a pair of boxers at him and then got dressed while he watched her. She pulled her hair back into a bun and started out of the tent_

"_Hey, Kate?" He said quietly, and she turned around to look at him, moving a little closer._

"_Yeah?" _

"_Remember what we talked about last night? About you getting pregnant?"_

"_Yeah…" To his surprise, the night before, after sex, she had casually hinted that she wanted a baby. Then, he had been adverse to the idea, reminding her what he'd said before. Now, however…_

"_Well, I was thinking, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I kind of want a baby. With you."_

_She touched her stomach gingerly and then went over to him. He took her in his arms and pulled her into a tight hug. She pulled back first, teary-eyed and smiling. Her fingers grazed his cheeks, nose, chin, running over his stubble and stopping to gently touch his lips. He moved her hands down and pulled her into his lap, placing one hand on the back of her neck, half entangled in her hair, pulling her close for a mind-numbing kiss. When they came up for air, she had a mischievous grin on her face._

_Well, "I was going to go for a swim, but I guess we should get started, huh?"_

When he'd hung up with his mother, listening to her chastising him about Kate for half an hour, he called some of the other survivors. He wanted to know if they would be testifying after all.

Charlie and Claire were in London and Claire was expecting their first child together, and that, coupled with Aaron, prevented them from coming.

Jin and Sun were in Korea and their baby was keeping them too busy to fly anywhere.

Sayid was busy with a job and couldn't take a day off.

Locke had scheduled a walkabout in Australia that same day and couldn't make the trial.

Rose was too sick to fly and Bernard had to stay with her.

Even Sawyer had an excuse.

Only Hurley informed him that he was flying in, and Jack's gratitude was evident.

"You're the only one who will come," he told Hurley. "I just—thanks."

"No problem, Jack. She's an awesome person, and you guys deserve to be together. It's like fate or something."

He had to laugh at that. Fate? Nah, Jack didn't believe in fate.

"I'll pick you up from the airport when your flight gets in. I'll call you at my new number to get all the details once I get settled in."

"Cool. See you in a couple weeks. Cheer up, man, it's going to be alright."

"Thank you again, Hurley. It means more than I can say."

"No problemo. It's just shit that the others won't come. You took care of them and Kate took care of them and now they all let you down. I'll pay for everything, if you want. As a way to pay you back for all the crap I caused you on the island."

"Don't worry about it," Jack said. "You testifying for her more than makes up for it."

"If you say so, man. Hey, I gotta go, but give me a call as soon as you can. Later, dude."

"Thanks, Hurley. Talk to you later."

The next few days went by in a whirl. He rented a U-haul truck and drove to his new house in Des Moines, a two-story, three-bedroom, two-and-a-half baths with a spacious kitchen and a large backyard. He knew he was pushing it with the extra bedroom, but he had a feeling that Kate would get off. They had both agreed on at least three kids with no preference to their genders.

His things easily fit into the house, but it looked sparse. As he counted down the days to her trial, he hired an interior decorator, lied and said his pregnant wife was visiting her parents and he wanted to make the house look nice for when she returned. He decided on lots of blues and beiges, to remind them of the island. The baby's room was something of a problem for him. He didn't know whether they were having a boy or a girl, and the lack of baby furniture made it difficult to make a solid decision.

He found suddenly that he couldn't make a choice with Kate there, and without knowing the gender of the baby they were having. She'd be home soon, in his arms again, and they would decide together.

His mother returned his call the morning before the trial, letting him know that a media frenzy had erupted over Kate's upcoming trial. His old landlord had told them that Jack had moved, but they apparently didn't believe him and camped out in front of the complex, hoping for a glimpse of him.

His colleagues at the new hospital were kept under a strict code of silence, not to tell anyone about their new co-worker. Jack hadn't actually worked yet, preferring to wait until Kate's trial and get all of that stress out of the way. He was nervous and excited and when he went to pick Hurley up at the airport that evening, Hurley asked if everything was alright.

"You seem kinda, I don't know, distracted."

Jack scoffed. "Sure, Hurley, yeah I'm fine. My fiancée and the mother of my child is about to go to trial tomorrow. I'm doing wonderful. Top of the world."

There was a pause for a moment before Hurley turned to him, grinning. "Kate's gonna have a little Kate? Or a little Jack?"

Jack hesitated a moment before confirming the news. Hurley slapped him on the shoulder, causing Jack to momentarily lose control of the wheel.

"Sorry, dude," Hurley said apologetically. "It's just, wow. I mean, how awesome is that? You guys will have your hands full."

"Yeah," Jack said, flipping on his wipers as rain started to fall on the windshield. "Awesome."

The trial was set for nine the following morning, so both Jack and Hurley went to bed early. Hurley slept in the guest bedroom while Jack spent a rough night on the king-sized bed in his room, tossing and turning, nightmares filling his head. He dreamed that Kate had given birth and the baby was stillborn. He dreamed that Kate died in labor. He dreamed that Kate died on the island. He dreamed that Kate had been given the death sentence and they ignored his protests and gave her the firing squad and they killed her and the baby.

He woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, wiping the tears out of his eyes. He wouldn't let any of that come true. There was too much at stake, for both of them.

The courtroom was madness. He and Hurley arrived early and they were hustled into the room, which was already packed with reporters, chatting and broadcasting. The moment the two men walked into the room, all attentions were turned on them and attempts were made to pull them to the side for an on-camera interview. Both Jack and Hurley declined, ignoring the reporters' questions and shouting. They took seats behind Kate's defense attorney, who made no attempt to acknowledge their presence. Both Jack and Hurley's attempts to hire a much better lawyer had been denied by the state. This was Kate's case, not theirs.

The time passed quickly, and Kate was soon brought in. She found Jack immediately and they locked eyes. He nodded at her, his eyes offering comfort.

_It'll be okay_. He mouthed to her. She nodded back, and placed her over her stomach, a secret that only they knew. Her pregnancy had been hidden from the general public, for fear that it would sway public opinion and make the jury reluctant to incarcerate an expectant mother.

The guards let her to the seat directly in front of Jack and stepped back, leaving her handcuffs firmly on. Jack leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

"Hey, you doing okay?"

She nodded, then nodded her head ever-so-lightly to the right, indicating her attorney. He understood, but he had one more pressing question.

"How's baby?"

"Moving," she whispered. "I can feel him."

"I wish I could—"

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Louis Raydonik."

Other people testified first, a bank manager; a scrawny man whom Kate had apparently briefly been marriage to; even Sam, Kate's stepfather, who nearly broke down on the stand. From his vantage point behind her, Jack saw tears streaming down Kate's cheeks. He wanted more than anything to touch her arm and tell her it was alright.

Hurley was next, and he detailed their life on the island. The defense attorney asked when Hurley knew Kate was a criminal.

"Well, like the second day on the island, Jack was checking out the marshal and I saw this piece of paper and I looked at it, and it was Kate's mugshot. I mean, it was pretty shocking, she didn't seem like the type of person who would be a criminal. So later I saw her go into the marshal's tent and I was coming out, and she had this gun tucked in the back of her pants. I mean, that's not the thing you want to see when you find out she's like a fugitive or something. But Jack seemed cool with her, like he trusted her already. And then later, when she was in the tent with the marshal, I told Jack about her having the gun, but she didn't shoot him."

"How did the marshal die?"

Hurley glanced quickly at Jack, as if looking for help. "Well, he pretty much died. I mean, he had this frickin' huge piece of shrapnel stuck in his side, and he wasn't at a hospital, so he didn't have much chance anyway. But Kate didn't kill him or get revenge on him even though she had a chance to."

"Thank you, Mr. Reyes. That will be all."

"Did she ever tell you about her childhood sweetheart?"

Jack hesitated, glancing at Kate, who gave him an understanding nod. He sighed. "She came to me one day and said that I needed her to help get the marshal's gun case back from Sawyer—one of the survivors. He'd been trying to open it, and she told me there were guns in it. I got it, and we dug up the marshal's body and opened the case. She didn't want the guns or the ammo or the money. All she wanted was this little toy airplane. I didn't understand until she told me later. She already talked about that, and she told me she told him to get out of the car and he wouldn't. I wouldn't blame him, either. I wouldn't have left her like that."

"And where are the rest of your fellow survivors? Why didn't they come and testify?"

Jack shook his head. "I can't answer that. I don't know why they wouldn't come. I don't know if they were ashamed of her or why they wouldn't come. All I know—" Here, Jack turned his attention to the TV camera that was focusing on him. He knew that even though they weren't there, the others were undoubtedly watching "—is that they betrayed her. She's never been anything but good to them, _all of them_,and they betrayed her. She delivered their babies and they spit in her face. She helped me give them medical treatment and they poured salt in her wounds. She helped them when they needed her the most, and they abandoned her."

"Thank you, Dr. Shephard. No more questions, Your Honor."

Kate's attorney asked Jack a few questions, mostly pushing for him to give his side of the story. His final question

"You are Ms. Austen's fiancée, am I correct?"

The murmuring began, and the judge had to bang his gavel to restore order. Jack nodded.

"Yes, we're engaged."

"And why would a man such as yourself, a well-paid, blue-blood doctor, fall in love with a farm girl turned fugitive?"

"I don't know. First day on the island, she sewed my back up because I couldn't reach it. I was a stranger and she helped me. She'd never been anything but eager to help. She was always the one running off on our dangerous treks through the jungle, picking fruit for us to eat, helping people with their problems. Something she did things that made me mad, but she always made me smile. I guess that's why I love her. She's good."

"So you don't think she committed these crimes?"

"No, I never said that. I think she committed them within reason. She's not a bad person. She's _not_ a—" And he found he couldn't go on, because the tears were already running down his face, and though he was still vaguely aware of the sea of faces staring at him, he found that he didn't care.

They asked Kate things that Jack had heard many times before. About her childhood, about her mother, about Wayne, about Sam, about Tom. She trembled when she recounted the number of times Wayne had hit her or her mother, and the day she found out that Wayne was her biological father. She spoke about the island and talked about Jack. He saw the way her eyes lit up for once, when she mentioned him and how he had kept her sane. Some of the women in the audience had begun to cry softly

The air left the room when the verdict was read: fifteen years, with the possibility of parole after five, provided good behavior and improvement. She'd have to undergo psychological evaluation and no visitors for a year. That last part broke him, and it hit her like a ton of bricks, as she slumped in her seat, defeated. He thought about the baby—she was still barely showing, even with four months to go, and he wondered would he even be allowed in the room when his child was born?

They wouldn't let him speak with her after the trial. The verdict was firm and final and he let Hurley drive the car home while he sat in the passenger seat, unable to get that last look out of his mind. Helplessness, hopelessness. He punched a hole in the wall of the living room when they got back to the house, angry and frustrated. Hurley put a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some comfort and Jack heaved with a sob.

"It's okay, man. Let it out, it'll do you some good."

The phone rang then, and Hurley answered it. His voice dropped to a angry whisper, and Jack almost laughed to hear that tone from Hurley.

"It's Charlie," Hurley informed him.

"I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to any of them. Tell them I said to fuck off."

Hurley repeated the message and waited a moment before saying, "Yeah, you should have. You and Claire owed it to both of them. After all they did for both of you."

Sayid called an hour later, and Sun after that. Jack let Hurley take the calls, too exhausted to yell anymore. Hurley cooked a small meal and urged Jack to eat. He picked at the pasta, not in the mood. The phone rang again and Hurley, once again, answered it.

"Dude—it's Sawyer."

"You think I want to talk to him? Tell him what you told everyone else."

"Yeah, but he really wants—"

"Hurley," Jack said warningly. "Don't."

When his mother called, and Sarah after, his messages to them were a little politer. Hurley explained he was a friend from the crash and that Jack had taken the verdict hard and was lying down. It wasn't a lie, as Hurley had pushed him up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"I'll come back and check on you, Jack. See if you're okay."

Jack sighed, hugging a pillow to his chest that should have been Kate's body. He wasn't okay. He would never be okay, not as long as Kate was trapped in a cold, dark, damp jail cell, instead of nestled safely in his arms, where she belonged.


	4. Hope and Memory

Three months passed before he heard anything. He had spent nearly every day at the jail, begging to see her, begging to be allowed to just touch her, just to look at her, to know she was alright. She was carrying his child, and he wouldn't even have the memories of their first ultrasound, first time hearing their baby's heartbeat. That was all supposed to happen when she was let off. He told himself that he had been overconfident; that he should at least be happy she had a lighter sentence. They could have given her the death penalty.

He had the day off that morning, and was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper. He had a subscription to the New York Times sent to the house; the local paper wasn't informative enough for him. He was barely paying attention when he heard the mail slot click, and only the postman's knock on the door brought him out of his reading. He pulled himself up and went to gather the mail.

Bill. Bill. Junk. Bill. The fifth piece of mail startled him. His name was written in a woman's shaking script, the return address one he had long ago memorized. It was too thick to contain just a letter, and he tore open the envelope with a fervor, walking over to his countertop to lean on it while he read. Four pictures fell onto the counter's unusually clean surface, but he looked first at the letter. Dark spots told him she'd been crying at some point while she'd written it.

Jack,

I miss you so much. I'm going to be staying in a hospital soon, but I'm not allowed to tell you where. They'll read this when I'm done, and if I do, I don't know if they'll let me write another letter.

I had to go for an ultrasound last week, to make sure the baby was alright. My first, the whole time I've been pregnant. I'm due in a month and a half, Jack, and this is my first ultrasound. I found out that we're having a little boy, and they gave me the pictures from the ultrasound, so I thought I'd give them to you for safekeeping. I can feel him moving inside me all of the time now. I can't wait until he's born—just so I can touch him and look at him and know that I have a little part of you with me before they take him.

I'm scared. Not because of the baby, but because I don't know if you'll be there when he's born. I was afraid they'd take him away from me because we're not married. They said they'll contact you when he's born and you can come and get him from the hospital. Promise you'll raise him like you. Promise you'll raise him to be good and patient and caring and a gentleman. Promise you'll tell him about me, and when he starts asking what I did, tell him the truth. You know everything now, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you myself.

I love you. Will you write to me? Maybe they'll let you write, even if you can't come in and see me. If I can get a letter from you, it will be the next best thing. Jack, I love you so much. Baby loves you, too. He's moving around now, and sometimes I have to stop writing because he kicks me. I'm running out of room. I'll write again as soon as I have a chance.

I love you,

Kate

P.S. I can't think of any good names, so I'll let you name him when he's born.

It took Jack a moment to realize that his own tears were blotting out words on the letter. He wiped his eyes and turned to the four pictures, picking up the one on top of the pile first. Her advanced stage of pregnancy was evident, and he could clearly make out fingers, toes. In the second, the baby looked like he was sucking his thumb. The third was outlined to indicate the baby's gender, a boy, like she'd said. The fourth…his eyes welled up again, and he nearly lost control of himself. It was a picture of Kate, dressed in her orange prison jumpsuit, unbuttoned to show off her bulging belly, and she had one hand under her stomach and one hand over. She was otherwise thin and pale, and her curly hair was so limp, it hung almost lifeless around her face. But she was glowing with motherhood, and her smile made that evident. He wondered who had taken the photograph, but he was glad someone did.

_Kate, _

Thank you for the letter. I don't know how I'm supposed to wait another month and a half for our baby to come. So…a boy, huh? I hope I don't sound too disappointed when I say I really wanted a little girl—a little miniature version of you, but I'll be happy with a boy too. I promise to take a million pictures and send you the copies. I'm still trying to get to see you. I made some calls, but I don't know if they'll go through with it. I told them that I deserved to see my firstborn child come into the world.

Kate, I want you out of there so badly. I want our son to grow up and have both of us. I don't want to be a single father, Kate. I want to marry you and raise our little boy and get out of this state and go someplace warm and secluded. I want you out of that place, Kate. But I know that's a distant dream, and we'll take things as they come, but I want you to know that I'm doing everything I can to get you out soon. I'm doing my best, Kate, I promise you. I promise that I'll find a way to fix this.

Yours, always, and with all my love,

Jack

He didn't fix it. He had to break his promise. The jail cut off all contact with him, and the guards no longer allowed him into the reception area. He visited the maternity ward of the hospital every day, pressing with the nurses to let him know if a woman named Katherine Austen or Katherine Shephard was admitted. He paced the maternity floor and read the section of the newspaper that gave information about births. It was almost an obsession, becoming a part of his routine. He got up, showered, skipped breakfast, drove to work, checked the maternity ward, performed surgeries, drove to the jail on his lunch break and was turned away yet again, returned to the hospital and did some patient consultation, filled out paperwork, went home, ate dinner, thought about Kate and the baby, took another shower, and went to bed.

He received two more letters from Kate, and then, in what would have been two weeks before her due date, the letters suddenly stopped. The four letters he sent in those two weeks, the last one frantic, were all returned, unopened. His visits to the jail got him only the response, "She's been transported to a hospital."

His doorbell rang on a chilly morning, December 16, 2005. His boss had called the previous evening to tell him that he could have the next few days off, saying that he was concerned about Jack not getting enough sleep.

He saw the woman in the brown suit through the peephole, holding a bundle in her arms. For a moment, he placed his hand on the wooden door, his forehead against the peephole, trying to inwardly calm himself down. When the woman rang the doorbell again, he pulled back and opened the door.

"Dr. Jack Shephard?" She inquired, almost impatiently.

"Yes?"

"Marcia Sutton. I'm the state's representative at Allen Hospital in Waterloo. I've been told to bring your baby here."

She pushed the bundle wrapped in a light blue blanket into his arms. He didn't look at the baby at first, gazing instead at the woman, who was giving him a cold stare.

"How's Kate? Ms. Austen, I mean. Is she alright?"

"I don't know anything except what they told me. I have a copy of his birth certificate. Ms. Austen was still unconscious when they gave him to me, so you will need to fill the rest of it out and have it filed. I'm sure you know where to get all of that taken care of."

She handed a small file to him, and he adjusted his hold on the baby to take it. He frowned, processing what she'd said.

"What do you mean, she was still unconscious when they gave him to you? She hasn't seen him yet?"

"No, not that I know of."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-seven hours old."

"Jesus," Jack muttered under his breath. He was barely a day old. Was that even legal? He didn't really have anything ready. Not a crib, no diapers, no baby formula. He had held off on buying things because the fact hadn't yet sunk it that Kate wouldn't be here to do it with him. "That's just fucking fantastic. My first child comes into the world and neither his mother nor I get to see it. Great. Just great."

"You know, Dr. Shephard," the woman said, coolly, slipping slightly out of her formal tone. "I don't understand why a seemingly nice man like yourself would go messing around with a criminal. She's a murderer, and you had a child with her. I mean, just because you're a doctor doesn't give you special privileges. You should have known better. Honestly, they could have taken him away, since you aren't even married."

He thought about telling this woman off. He had heard that same story from plenty of people, and he knew that they would never stop. He wanted to scream obscenities at her, give her a serious mouth-off, ask her if she'd ever spent eight months of her life on an island fighting for survival, if she'd ever suffered the way he had in his quest to win Kate's heart, if she'd ever been in love the way he was in love with Kate. Anger coursed through his veins, and a fire burned in the pit of his stomach. And for once, it wasn't fear that he let take over, but the anger. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ And then, to his surprise, it was gone. Still, as he felt the remnants of his anger seeping away, he allowed himself one luxury.

He slammed the door in her face.

He made his way to the couch and sat down, finally allowing himself to look at the face of his son. He put down the folder of files and lay the baby in his lap. His mood instantly improved as he pulled bits of blanket away from the little boy's face. He was still small and a little wrinkly, but Jack thought he was perfect. He had a layer of fine, downy black hair that had a little of Kate's curl to it. His nose was more flat like Kate's, but rounded like a little button nose. Jack reached out almost shyly to touch the little boy's nose. The baby wiggled, yawned, and cracked open his eyes. He felt silly, trying to hide his disappointment. Brown eyes, like his own. Brown eyes that would stay brown eyes, and not become green eyes like his mother's. His skin was soft to the touch, and Jack found, when he touched the boy's cheek with his finger, he made a little whimpering noise and tried to nurse. He let the baby's mouth find his finger, and was almost amused when he began making angry grunting noises when the milk failed to appear.

"Hungry, huh, buddy?"

More whimpering. Jack, instantly alarmed, but more alert, wrapped the blanket around his son tightly, getting up and wrapping him in the large blanket draped over the couch. Jack himself pulled on a heavy coat, before grabbing his keys and carrying his son out to the car parked in the driveway. The social worker's car was nowhere in sight.

As soon as Jack slid into the driver's seat, the baby still in his arms, he realised his predicament. He placed the baby in the passenger seat, buckling the seatbelt. He needed formula, and he need a crib, diapers, a car seat, a high chair for later, toys, clothes. As he sat in the car, a first-time father, alone, save for the tiny day-old baby in the seat next to him. He started, for the second time that day, and for two different emotions, began to count slowly to five, before backing the car out of the driveway and heading for the mall.

People at the mall remarked how tiny his baby looked. Jack lied and told them that he was a week old, that his wife was resting and he'd taken the baby out for some shopping to let her relax. They asked what his name was, and Jack told them that his name hadn't been decided yet. He shyly asked women in the babies' section of the Gap to show him the best clothes for newborns. He picked out a crib, a cherry-wood style that would be delivered the following morning. He bought a car seat, a baby pram, a stroller for when the baby was older. He put some of the clothes on layaway, finding that he couldn't fit half of it in his car.

The trip to the grocery was just as eventful. He bought twelve bags of Pampers diapers and several boxes of baby wipes, Johnson and Johnson's baby lotion and soap, and then quite possibly all of the cans of Similac baby formula, earning a few questioning looks from his fellow shoppers. While he waited in the checkout line, he picked up a small baby name book, hoping that he could find something. He didn't like half of the names, and hated being so picky. But this was his son, and he wanted to find the perfect name.

"He's so small," the woman in front of him commented, breaking him momentarily from his concentration. At the same moment, his eyes landed on the name, "Paul. Means 'small.' The Roman name for Saul, an Apostle, a great missionary." A second name jumped out at him, "Samuel. Old Testament. Hebrew prophet and judge who anointed Saul as king."

Hadn't Kate mentioned her father—or stepfather, really—was named Sam? She'd like that, he thought, when he wrote her and sent pictures of the baby. Paul Samuel Shephard. It was a little old-fashioned, he thought, but he liked it.

The cashier gave him an annoyed look while she rang up all of his items.

"$973.46." She said when she'd finished, snapping her gum. Jack sighed, gazing at his son, who gurgled up at him innocently. After all of the money he had spent in just this first day of parenthood, he wondered just how much he was looking forward to the next 21 years.

They got home by mid-evening, and by now, Paul was cranky. He was clearly hungry and the first thing Jack did after unloading the car was feed him. He burped his son, bathed him, dressed him in the ill-fitting Blue's Clues baby pyjamas, and pushed his own bed against the wall, putting the baby on his back. He didn't trust the baby alone, so he stripped off his jeans and sweater, leaving him wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and crawled in slowly next to him. He moved closer to watch his son, somewhat concerned about rolling over and suffocating him, but thinking that his natural father's sense, one that he already found himself developing, would take care of that. He was lulled to sleep by Paul's soft breathing.

---

He wanted it to stay like that, peaceful, serene. He should have known better. The first two weeks were hell. The baby cried and was finicky about everything. If Jack removed the bottle before he'd finished eating, Paul refused to eat anymore, and would end up crying later because he was still hungry. Jack would bathe him and he would immediately mess up his diapers right after. His ears were sensitive, and he cried at the slightest loud sound. Jack was overwhelmed and frustrated. He knew it wasn't the baby's fault, but all of Jack's anger was building up, and he knew he had to be careful, or he'd end up hurting Paul. He hammered his brain for a solution before going to the phone, debating with himself for a moment, and then picking it up and dialing. It rang once, twice, three times, until he heard the voice on the other end pick up.

"Hello?"

"Mom? It's me, Jack. I need your help."

His mother arrived two days later, sweeping into his house and looking around disapprovingly. He answered the door with Paul in his arms, screaming from the noise of the doorbell. His mother took the baby in her arms and rocked him, whispering words that Jack couldn't hear. As he watched this first meeting between grandmother and grandson, a thought occurred to him: had his mother ever rocked him like that when he was a baby?

It worked magic, and Paul soon drifted off to sleep. His mother handed the baby back, glaring at Jack.

"When were you going to tell me I had a grandchild?"

"It's been a long year, Mom."

She followed him soundlessly as he went upstairs to put Paul in his cot, shutting the door as he left. She confronted him outside the baby's nursery, her hands on her hips, staring up at him accusingly, and asking a question she most likely already knew the answer to. "Where is his mother?"

"She's in jail, Mom. She's in jail, and she should be here, with me and him."

His mother said nothing for a moment, looking him over.

"Jack, you're a mess.

He took two sleeping pills—smiling at a long-ago memory of Kate drugging him after Boone's funeral—and slept, content with the knowledge that his mother would be there for Paul when he woke up. He slept the best he'd slept in months, without nightmares to get in the way of his dreams: he stood on a sandy beach, his arm around Kate's waist, a raven-haired, chubby-cheeked toddler with jelly on her face making sandcastles while an older boy with the same dark hair splashed happily in the ocean, his laughter bright and happy. Of all the dreams he must have dreamed in the long hours of his slumber, it was that one that remained, constantly clear and always vibrant.


	5. Many Meetings

She was coming home. Somehow, he had pulled strings and she was coming home. He had begged and pleaded with the court, saying that it wasn't fair that his son was going to grow up knowing his mother behind a wall of glass during the crucial years of his life. The judge finally gave in, said that he'd give them a week together, and allow her to come for Paul's first birthday. Three days prior, the birthday, and three days after. Until he told them that she ought to stay for Christmas, and might as we stay until the New Year. The judge gave him an annoyed look, but he gave in. She'd be there, with them, arriving on December 12, leaving January 2. It didn't matter that this was only a temporary visit. She was coming home.

---

The previous month, he'd met Earl and Connor for lunch, his treat. The man had thanked him over and over again for the money he'd sent what seemed like ages ago. His younger son, Davey, had died in August, and although the death freed Earl of some of the financial burdens, it left another fresh gap in the dwindling family. It showed. Connor, now almost ten, was quieter now, smiled less. He did smile when he saw Paul, and played with him so that Jack could eat in peace for once. It was relief to let someone else take over keeping his son occupied for a change.

"He's very good with children," Jack had told Earl during the meal, watching as Connor played peek-a-boo with Paul. "He'll make a great pediatrician someday."

"Funny, I always wanted to be a police officer when I was his age," Earl remarked, smiling at his son. "Connor hates them. When Marcia was–arrested, Connor called them the 'bad men in blue.' Marcia used to blame the doctors for what was wrong with Davey. Glad Connor doesn't, though. Tried to tell him that the cops are there to help, but he's stubborn. You know how kids are."

Since they were now both practically single fathers, Jack and Earl made an agreement to meet at least every other month, to talk about their growing boys and discuss the situation with their partners in jail. Earl encouraged him to appeal to the judge for Kate's release. It wasn't right, he said, for a child to grow up and never know his mother.

And Jack hated that all Paul would have of Kate until she was released was the photo he kept of himself and Kate on the mantel, taken shortly after their rescue, before the plane ride back to LA. Charlie had taken it their last night in Sydney. Jack was wearing a baseball cap (Red Sox, naturally) and a polo sweater. His brand new blue jeans weren't visible because Kate was sitting in front of him, her arms reaching up to latch around his neck, while his own were wrapped around her waist. She was wearing a dress, and it had been the first time he'd ever seen her in one. She was glowing. She must have known then, about the baby, even before taking the test. He had long ago memorized every detail of the photograph. He showed it to Paul everyday, pointing to Kate's wide grin, and telling his son, "That's your mommy. She can't be here right now, but she loves you very much."

The week before Paul's first birthday, three days before Kate was due to arrive, he pointed to the picture and told him, "That's your mommy. She loves you very much and she's coming to be with us for a while."

The little boy stared at the picture, then up at Jack with wide eyes. The coloring was his own brown, but they were shaped just like Kate's, and were just as mysterious and expressive. Still, Jack worried about his son. As opposed to his first few months of life, now, Paul rarely cried, and if he did, he screamed and fussed. He hadn't spoken his first words, or taken his first steps. He was clingy, and threw a tantrum when Jack tried to put him on his own two feet. _Stubborn_, Jack thought. _Like his mother_. He thought for some time that the baby might have been deaf, but Paul responded to his name, listened or looked when her heard loud noises. Jack couldn't help but wonder what Kate had gone though during her pregnancy. Statistics showed that babies born to women in jail were more likely to suffer developmental problems, but Jack had always assumed that was because most of those women were from poor backgrounds and already had problems before their pregnancies. Problems with drinking, drugs. But not Kate, not _his_ Kate.

The day she was due to arrive, Jack paced the front room all morning with Paul in his arms. He fed him when he got fussy, and warmed up some soup for himself. He played with Paul and tried to keep him entertained. Hours slipped by. Paul got tired and cranky and Jack took him upstairs and put him to bed. Paul hadn't slept with him since that first day, but whenever he could, Jack would always watch him sleeping and stop to lean in and listen to his son's soft breathing. When he was much younger, Jack would sit in the wooden rocking chair in the middle of the room and rock slowly while the baby would sleep on his chest. Paul was growing, getting too big for that now, but every once in a while, he would cradle his little boy close, brushing his dark, downy-soft curls and watching as Paul's dark brown eyes drooped. He sometimes wondered what babies dreamed about, and if Paul had ever had a nightmare. Did he dream about baby things? About his father or grandmother? Did he dream about the mother he had never met? He was too small to even understand what a mother was, and that was why Jack kept showing him the picture. He hoped one day, his son would be able to look at the real thing and call her by her name.

Jack had fallen asleep in the armchair in the front room when the doorbell rang. His years of residency and the past year with Paul had taught him to be a light sleeper, and he jolted to his feet. His legs felt like jelly walking to unlock and open the front door. The darkness surprised him; he hadn't realized how late into the evening it was. He flipped on the porch light, expecting to see Kate's face. Instead, he was greeted by a uniformed police officer who handed him a sheet of paper and a pen.

"I need you to sign this," the man told him. "We've measured the perimeter of your property, and she's wearing a location device on her ankle. If she takes a single step off of your property, we'll know. You need to agree that any move she makes to leave, with or without your permission, will be seen as breaking the law, and you will be charged with harboring a fugitive and aiding in the escape of a criminal."

"She's not a fugitive anymore," Jack reminded the man, furrowing his brow as he tried to scan the paper before signing it. His usual signature was a typical doctor's scrawl, but for this, he carefully wrote his name in cursive. The marshal checked it, and then disappeared for a moment to his car. Jack watched from the door as the man opened the back door and Kate stepped out. The man pushed her forward, up the driveway and toward the house. Jack tried to catch her eyes, but she didn't look at him, not while the man unlocked her handcuffs or when he stooped to activate the tracker on her ankle, a surprisingly small device that was carefully hidden by her sock.

"I'll be back, same time, on the second of January," the officer told Jack, going back to his car. Jack made no signal that he acknowledged his departure. He was focused on Kate.

He wanted to get a good look at her. It had been over a year since he'd last seen here, and she was clearly different from the pregnant Kate he'd last seen. He ushered her inside and shut the door behind them. She hugged her thin coat tighter around her thin frame. Her curly hair was flat and stringy, and shorter than he remembered it. As he moved to take her coat, she dropped her fists to her sides, clenched defiantly, and bit down on her lip. He moved away from her to hang her coat in the hall closet, then turned to face her. All at once, to his surprise, she was in his arms, her forehead pressed against his chest, already forming a wet spot against the white fabric of his t-shirt. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.

"Jack, Jack, Jack." She murmured, over and over again. She had a strange smell to her, something very clinical. A part of him felt like this was a dream. She was there, standing there, in his arms. He had been so lost without her, and there were days when he was terrified that he would never see here again. If he hadn't had Paul there to look after, he would have fallen into his father's old habits, the wallowing self-pity of alcohol.

And yet...he felt strangely detached from her. He pulled back slightly and touched her cheek.

"Hey,"

"Hey,"

"What happened to your hair?"

"They cut it," she said, fingering her not-quite shoulder-length hair. "I need to wash it. I haven't–I don't like taking showers there. Everyone stares at me. I just use the sink in our room to wash, at night, when the guards don't walk around."

"I'll run the water for you. You can take a bath if you want."

She nodded. "That'd be nice."

They stood there, awkwardly, and his hand dropped to his side. She looked around, and he thought he saw disappointment in her face.

"Your house–it's nice. Clean. No toys all over the floor."

"Do you want to see him?"

Her face brightened suddenly. "The baby?"

"Yeah,"

"Okay," she nodded, chewing her lip. He could tell she was fighting back more tears.

"He's probably asleep," he told her, leading her up the stairs and down the hallway. "I put him down just before you got here."

"Why's his room at the end of the hall?" Kate asked as he opened the door and turned on the light. Paul was standing up in his crib when they went into the room, and he heard Kate take a sharp breath at his side. The little boy stared up at the two of them with his wide green eyes and reached up for Jack as they moved toward the crib. He was wide awake and showed off a small smile, keeping his pacifier between his growing teeth.

"I figured it was easiest," Jack answered, lifting the little boy up. "My room's right next door, so if I have to get up during the night to go downstairs, I don't have to fumble around in the dark to find the light and risk waking him up. He's a light sleeper, isn't that right, buddy?" He tickled Paul gently, and was rewarded with a delighted gurgle.

"How is he?" Kate asked, touching her little boy's cheek for the first time.

"He's happy, healthy. He hasn't said much, just babbles. No first words. My neighbor's daughter, Emma, talks a mile a minute when she can, but Paul, he doesn't say much."

"He's a year old, what does he have to say?"

Jack didn't answer right away, but instead felt the baby's forehead and looked into his mouth. "He's been a little irritable lately. Crying, feverish, a little fussy. He might still be teething; he's still missing two of his molars, they should have grown in weeks ago."

He caught the tail end of Kate's frown, her eyebrows knitted with concern.

"He's not…there's nothing wrong with him. I know what you're thinking. Not talking, still not walking, teeth coming in too slow. Some children take longer than others. He'll catch up."

She nodded, but he could tell she wasn't reassured.

"Do you want to hold him?"

"What?" She looked a little unsure as he eased the little boy into her hold. He squirmed a little, then gazed up at Kate with wide eyes.

"He has your eyes," she pointed out, rocking him back and forth in her arms. "My nose." She poked Paul's nose, and he make a sneezing noise, and grabbed at her hands, taking one of her fingers and biting on it gently.

"Hi, baby." Kate whispered. "I'm your mommy."

Paul briefly released his bite on her finger and grinned up at her, showing off his baby teeth. Jack smiled, watching the two of them.

"I think he knows,"

"Knows?" She asked, curiously, watching as Paul chewed gently on her finger. He led her over to sit in the rocking chair and knelt next to them.

"Who you are. Remember that picture Charlie took of us? I show him all the time. I think he recognizes you. He doesn't know really, that you're his mother, but he recognizes you."

"Smart baby," Kate said, speaking more to Paul than to Jack. She wiggled her finger free from grasp. Jack shut his eyes and braced himself, waiting for the inevitable scream of protest, the tantrum he knew was coming.

It never did. He opened his eyes and saw Kate, rocking Paul gently against her. He shifted slightly in her arms and drifted off to sleep.

"Wow," Jack stared. "He never does that for me."

"Why didn't you write to me?" She asked suddenly, keeping her voice low, but the anger evident. "I wrote to you twice a month after I had him. I wrote to you and you never wrote back. When I sent you those pictures, you wrote to me. But I guess once you got the real thing, you forgot about me."

He gazed at her, stunned. "Kate, I wrote to you every week. Twice a week, sometimes. I kept sending the letters, and they kept getting returned. I knew I printed the right address, because I'd drive by there every chance I got. I wrote to you, but I never got your letters. I guess...they didn't want us to write. I kept sending pictures of him. I'm glad I made doubles. Sometimes, they wouldn't return the letters to me, and I thought you'd gotten them."

"Oh," her reply was one of embarrassment, shame and regret. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, not for their mistakes. You deserved to see him, and they shouldn't have taken that from you."

She leaned down slightly to kiss Paul's curly hair. "Jack...oh, Jack. I don't even know his name."

"It's Paul. Paul Samuel Shephard. You told me that was your stepfather's name. Sam. I thought you'd like that. I went shopping the day they brought him to me, and I was looking in this baby name book. This lady behind me, she said that he was so small, so tiny. That's what his name means, Paul. Tiny, small. And he was, Kate, he was so little then."

"Paul," she kissed his forehead again. "I like it."

"I'll get out the photo albums tomorrow, and I'll show you. I took pictures of everything he did."

"I can't wa-ah-ah–" she tried in vain to hide the yawn, and he smiled wearily.

"You're tired. Come on, I'll put him in bed and run you a quick bath." He moved to take Paul from her, but she held him closer.

"He can sleep with us," Kate protested sleepily. Jack paused for a moment. He had thought of putting her in the guest room. Baby or not, he wasn't sure what situation their relationship was in now, or if she even wanted to sleep in the same bed with him. He had to gently rebuke himself for even thinking that way.

He helped her to her feet and led her into his bedroom. Jack went into the adjoining bathroom to run Kate's bath, and stood in the doorway, watching as Kate gently laid Paul on the bed. He shifted and whimpered softly, but remained asleep. Kate sat next to him and rubbed his back, humming softly.

Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest. "When did you learn how to be such a good mother?"

"I practiced a lot with Aaron. Claire let me–" she stopped, and Jack, understanding, came to sit beside her, brushing back an errant strand of hair. She made a soft sobbing noise, and he pulled her into his arms.

"I know, I know. Shh, Kate, Kate. I know."

He let her cry on his shoulder until she was too exhausted to cry anymore. He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom. She made no protests as he slowly undressed her, then gently lowered her into the warm water. There was no room for any erotic thoughts to fill his head. He washed her body, then her hair, gently massaging her scalp, trying to rid her of the grittiness of the prison. He wrapped her in a towel, draining the water, and carried her back into the bedroom, drying her off and lotioning her. She had come to him with no clothes, so he dug around in his things until he found a long flannel nightshirt, a gift from his mother that he never wore. He put her bra back on her, then grabbed a pair of his boxers that he slid over her too-slim hips. He pulled the nightshirt over her head and pulled back the blankets, letting her slide between the comfort of his beige satin sheets. She reached out toward Paul, and Jack moved the baby closer to her.

When he moved toward the bathroom, intent on a shower before he got into bed with them, she reached her arm out to touch his hand.

"Don't go," she whispered, pulling on his hand. "Stay with us."

He nodded, and pulled off his jeans to crawl in next to them.

They slept together that night, the three of them, Jack, with his back against the wall, Kate's arms reaching for him, and Paul nestled snugly between them, Kate's shirt clutched in his tiny fist. Subconsciously, Jack knew that she would have to go back in a couple weeks, that this couldn't last forever. Until then, she was home.


	6. Breath of Life

A/N: I was going through the story when I realized I made a miscalculation, and Paul's birthdate is actually December 15th, and I figured if Kate is staying until the 18th, she might as well stick around for Christmas, and then might as well stay for the New Year. So I went back and editing bits of the last two chapters to reflect that. Probably unrealistic, but hey, that's what fanfiction is all about :) And I totally lied, this is going to be like eight to ten chapters, not five like I thought. R&R and enjoy :)

* * *

He woke to a set of fingers in his mouth. Squinting at the sunlight streaming into the room, he opened his eyes to see Paul, smiling, kneeling on his bare chest, evidently thinking that sticking his fingers into his father's mouth was a nice wake-up call. In mock retaliation, Jack pretended to bite on Paul's fingers, and the baby squirmed, delighted. Jack propped himself up on his pillows and lay Paul on his back, then leaned in to lift his little shirt and blow gently on his stomach. Paul shrieked with laughter. Jack did it once more, then tried to stand the little boy next to him. Paul clutched the headboard and gave Jack an annoyed look as he plopped down on the empty pillow where Kate had been sleeping. 

"Hey, buddy. Where'd your mommy go?"

Paul waved at him. Jack knew what that meant. _Bye-bye_. A sudden dread filled him. Had she run? Were the police on their way? He was still considering his course of action, when he heard the toilet flush. She had been in the bathroom, he realized, with a sigh of relief. She emerged a minute later, wiping her slightly-damp hands on her shirt and sliding back into bed. Paul promptly ignored Jack and crawled over to Kate.

"Morning," she said to him as she hugged Paul to her.

"Morning. You hungry?"

"Nope. Paul and I already ate."

Jack glanced at the clock on his bedside table. _10:13_. He almost cursed, but stopped himself. He never slept this late.

"I turned your alarm off," she said, almost shyly. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you. Paul woke me up, so I changed him, and took him downstairs and fed him and I had some cereal. I like Corn Flakes. I'm glad you don't buy any of that sugary crap. He doesn't need it."

"Never saw the point. He's too little for it anyway." Jack picked up one of Paul's books, _Goodnight, Moon_. Paul never stayed awake long enough for Jack to read it to him at bedtime, so he read it as soon as they got up in the morning.

"Here," he handed it to Kate. "Read this to him while I take a shower. He likes it."

She took the book, raising an eyebrow. "This is a nighttime book, Jack. I can't read this to him at ten in the morning."

"He doesn't care, trust me,"

She handed the book to Paul, who took it and bit a corner of the book, then opened it–upside down, at first, then turned it the right way, and gazed at the pictures.

"I can't believe it's been nearly a year," Kate said, watching Paul "read." She reached out to brush his dark hair. "I missed so much. Sometimes, I wish we'd never been rescued. At least then, I could watch him grow up."

Jack nodded, understanding. He had never seen Kate as a motherly-type until he'd seen her with their son.

"I wish–" she started, then stopped herself.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's–never mind. Don't worry about it."

"Kate," he pressed. Long ago, they'd made their policy of "no secrets, only truth." Even under these circumstances, that still applied. "Tell me."

"I've been on my best behavior. I never complain, never pick fights, never talk back. It's been sixteen months, and I still have another three and a half years to go before I'm eligible for parole. I can't stand missing the best years of his life. Being in jail, I can handle it. I could deal with everything throw at us on the island, and everything I dealt with when I was on the run. But I can't deal with being away from my baby when he needs me most. Or from you. I just wish–I'd never done it. Never gone back to that house, never killed him–maybe everything would have been better for us."

"Don't say that, Kate," he told her gently, moving closer to put an arm around her shoulders. "Listen, if you hadn't run, if you hadn't–killed your father, we never would have met. We both made mistakes, bad choices. I let my father turn into a drunk. I criticized him, but I never did anything about it. And then he died. Our fathers are dead because of us, Kate. But because they died, we're here, we're together, we have Paul, and I love you, and nothing's going to change that. And the second you get out of prison, the first thing I'm going to do is marry you."

"I'd rather take a shower first, actually. And then get out of Iowa. Then we'll talk."

"I can handle that. You can shower first, then. I'll take him and get him dressed and then you can play with him while I take mine."

"I don't have any clothes," she pointed out, as she moved Paul from her lap and into Jack's. "Kind of a problem. I need clean underwear, too."

"Well, since you can't leave the house anyway, you can go through my stuff and find something to wear. My old Columbia sweatshirt should fit you, but I can go pick up some stuff for you right now. There's a Wal-Mart about five minutes away. I'll take Paul with me, so you can have some peace and quiet. Take a bath, relax, and I should be back by the time you're finished."

"Jack, thank you. Really, I mean it, everything you're doing for me, I just don't know how to–"

He took a bold step, leaned in, and kissed her. He hadn't realized–and apparently, neither had she–how much pent-up passion had built up during their separation. For a moment, they were back on the island, alone in their tent. He deepened the kiss as she moved closer to him, and he moved his hand to her neck, letting his fingers get caught up in her curly hair. She put a hand out to touch his bare chest. As his lips started to graze her neck--

Paul sneezed.

The pair of them jumped apart like a pair of startled rabbits. A glimmer of horror filled her eyes, as she glanced at their baby, who was watching them with curious eyes.

"We didn't almost–"

"Yeah," he nodded, still slightly dizzy from the whole thing. "Yeah, we did."

Now, she was looking at him with expectant eyes, touching his arm. "Jack–"

"When was your last–"

"Two weeks ago," she said, chewing her lip, as if she understood why he was asking. He leaned over to pick up his t-shirt from the floor, trying to keep a hand on Paul while he put it on.

"Not now, Kate. It's too soon after Paul, and I think–I think they'd make you get an abortion, because it would be so early in the pregnancy. I'll go and pick up some–" he glanced at Paul. "_Things_ at the store. Later, I promise. Just not now, not when there's the chance you could get pregnant again."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, rising to go over to Jack's dresser.

In his arms, Paul squirmed, trying to pull out of his grasp.

"Paul–wait, hold on," Jack said, trying to keep a hold on him.

"Mama!" Paul said suddenly, pulling himself free from Jack's hold and reaching for Kate. They both stared in shock at the baby, who was gazing expectantly up at Kate, still reaching for her. She moved back to the bed and pulled Paul into her arms, swinging him around. Jack saw her crying in the midst of her own laughter. All the while, Paul squealed with happiness, gurgling, "Mama, Mama, Mama" over and over again, apparently pleased with himself. As he sat on the edge of the bed, watching the two of them together, something inside of him swelled up with joy. She moved into his arms unexpectedly, sobbing into his chest, while Paul pulled on her shirt anxiously.

He wanted to tell her that there was a scientific explanation for it all, that sometimes, children don't develop in certain areas quickly, only to experience a sudden, unexpected breakthrough. But the way she was crying, tears of joy, he knew that this was a big moment for her. He reached out to ruffle Paul's hair, and the baby tilted his head back to gaze up at him.

He knew Paul could keep grinning. Paul didn't know that Kate would be gone in three weeks. He didn't know that once she left, there was no telling when they would see her again. In that way, he envied his son. Three weeks was not enough time. Maybe she'd heard his first words, but would she be around when he took his first steps? When he lost his first tooth? When he learned to ride his bike without training wheels? His first day of preschool? Kindergarten? Even, god forbid, high school?

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. He blinked, looking at her. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"You zoned out. I've been calling your name for a minute. What--"

"Jack!" That was Paul, grinning up at them, tugging on Jack's shirt now. "Mama! Jack!"

"Hey, kiddo, it's Dad to you, Jack to your mother."

"Jack!"

He laughed, pulling Paul from Kate's arms and hugging his son.

"Go take your bath," he told Kate, putting Paul back on the bed while he pulled on a pair of pants and boots. As he picked Paul back up, the little boy waved happily to Kate, letting Jack, for once, carry him away from something he wanted. As calm as he was now, Jack knew it would be a different story the day she left.  
---  
It had been nearly fourteen months since they'd been together like this.

"I love you, Kate," he told her, moving to lay on his back, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders, and letting his other hand entwine through her brown hair. "I love you so much. God, I missed you."

"I love you, too" she told him softly, resting her chin and one hand on his chest. "I'm scared, Jack. I'm so scared. I don't want to go back."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. "I know. We'll just make the most of the time we have."

She snuggled closer to him, nodding, but silent.

"I still want to marry you, Kate," he told her. "I just wish you didn't have that thing on, we could go, first thing tomorrow."

She raised her head to look up at him, with an almost smile on her face. "I can take it off, you know."

He blinked at her, frowning, a little confused. "You can–what? Kate, if I'd know that--"

"Not _legally_," she replied, pulling back the blankets covering them, and reaching down to fiddle with the thin bracelet on her ankle, working at it for a moment. He watched her curiously as she twisted and turned the device, and then, pulled up with it held between her fingers. "See?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she raised one of her own in return. Another thing he missed about her, he realized.

"It's a location device," he reminded her. "What are we going to do with it tomorrow?"

"We get up early in the morning, leave it in the bed. It's not precise, I doubt it even tracks my movements in the house. There probably isn't even anyone monitoring it. It probably only goes off if it leaves the yard. Jack," she noted the skeptical look on his face. "I spent years running from them, I know the way they work."

"And you spent about two years not running. Things have changed, Kate. I have a hard time adjusting to my job again. New techniques, new machinery."

"Trust me on this one, Jack."

He knew he shouldn't, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that made him nod in agreement.

"Tomorrow, then."

She leaned up to kiss him, placing the bracelet on the bedside table, and pulling the covers around tightly around her. "Tomorrow."


End file.
